


Introspection

by cccshutdown



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Game)
Genre: Drowning, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 19:34:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14088138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cccshutdown/pseuds/cccshutdown
Summary: Quirrel thinks about his past. What happens after the Blue Lake.





	Introspection

At long last, after traveling through Hallownest for so long and searching the lands both high and low, Quirrel found what he wanted to find so long ago.

Quirrel sits still on the shoreline of the Blue Lake, his hand gripping onto the hilt of his nail. His dear friend had left his side after spending quite some time sitting with him, admiring the view as well, a moment he cherished in his heart. The waves of the lake now proved to be the only company he had left, and he dipped his head as he thought in this relative silence.

He had nobody but himself, now, and he did not trust what his mind told him. Especially since he had no one to tell him otherwise.

His claws held tighter on the hilt of the nail as he breathed in sharply, his eyes closing. He really felt time catching up to him, didn't he? All that adventuring and travelling, all of the things he'd done - goodness, it just made him so tired. A long needed rest was calling out to him, and he knew that well. 

What's more is that, after seeing the world for a second time, this place all seemed so… Small. All of it felt small, and the world out there looked so bleak, after all this time… It almost felt hopeless.

He, too, feels hopeless in a way. The world was so beautiful, but the beauty was dulled by the terrible things in between. A kingdom that boasted such grandeur and magnificence, one that he had seen before, even if he didn't remember it, all laid to waste and ruin. He wonders if, maybe, he could've prevented it in his time. He, too, wonders just why he forgot, how he forgot... 

He knew Monomon. Once, at least, he did. Quirrel was a walking part of history and lord, he couldn't even remember why he held that mask for literal years. His mind burned with each agonizing question after question about who he could've been, who he'd known, and who he'd abandoned. He had no answers to any of them, and that hurt him.

It hurt even more to think that, in that null period of time where his memory had faded in static, everyone he knew had died, lost to either the infection or the infected.

Quirrel stifled a sob.

_Why?_

Why did he undertake this task? Why did he decide to do this? To abandon a life he knew and to have practically thrown it away, thrown everyone he knew away, and then come back to the ruins what he once knew? It hurt so much. He felt like he was going to shatter the metal of the blade in his grasp, somehow, from how tightly he held onto it. An agonizing pain welled together in his heart as he tried to repress his pain, the reality of what he had done crashing around him, the crashing waves the lake nigh deafening as he desperately wanted relief from this pain.

What had he done?

He could not blame Monomon. Something within him couldn't blame her. He had only one person to blame now, and it was himself, all for running off and abandoning a life he had known. The burden of this task fell on the wrong shoulders, and now, after it was done, Quirrel felt ready to collapse and give up. His time was done. His role in the grand scheme of the world was finished, and he had played his part.

… Where did that joy go? The carefree attitude he had, full of so much wonder and curiosity? Did it, too, die with this realization? He felt so solemn, now that he knew the truth of who he was and his task, and there was just a void in his heart. It did not bother him before, but now that he saw just how much of him he didn't remember, he couldn't remember, it was…. It was so much.

And yet, after all this, after all he had met and seen and done, he had nothing left. Nowhere to go, no one to turn to. All he could think of who cared even just a bit for him was just one little bug, who merely entered and exited his life as it pleased, a soft blur of white. A ghost in itself, an echo of what once was, a mere fragment of the past.

All he had was himself and a ghost.

…

But he couldn't say that the same ghost wasn't an important part of his life.

The same ghost that flickered in and out of his life, that always paused to listen intently. A stalwart and determined thing, scuffed and hurt from battle after battle, but never faltering. They would pass only to return, and the amount of times he'd see them return to rest on that bench in the City of Tears made him almost feel like that bug just wanted to spend time together rather than heal old wounds. The memory of them standing together in the abandoned station, almost echoing with the bells and voices of those long passed, as they merely listened to the nigh audible chimes of the bells when a stag was called. The sanctuary deep within Deepnest, looking up as he saw his friend descend to the hotspring, scared out of their shell, running up next to Quirrel and taking comfort in a friend, relaxing for just a moment together, taking shelter in a beacon of safety in such a dark, unforgiving place.

Their first meeting. The Temple, where this journey had been destined to start. The uncertainty of one another's existence, the caution in the ghost’s steps as they approached, and the pause as Quirrel wondered if he may have to draw his blade. The relief found when seeing someone, another adventurer with a similar determination, after so long.

A ghost of himself, in a way.

Quirrel stood slowly, his iron grip on his nail faltering as his hand fell to his side. He looked up, wiped his falling tears, and stared outwards towards the great expanse of blue ahead of him. He'd waited so long to see this, and travelled so far to see the source of the rain. He wasn't disappointed. It was, as he put it, incredible. 

… When he spoke that word, he wasn't sure if he meant the lake or his friend.

And when he said so long ago this was the last thing he wanted to see before leaving Hallownest, he did not intend to leave in the way he wants to leave now.

It would truly be a shame. To never see them again, after all they had been through together. After the battle with Uumuu, their nails in wonderful synchronization as they slashed together, him piercing the exterior and allowing his friend to slash forth. It was such a magical dance the two had, dashing across the arena, the electrifying air around them merely adding to the excitement of the battle.

But now, he was weary and felt weak, and in his heart, he knew a dance of such a caliber could never be made anew. His time was up, and rest calls.

Quirrel began to step forward.

Would they remember him, after all this time? Would they come back to find him gone? Would they miss him? Wait for him? Look for him?

… Would they care at all?

It provided some sort of comfort to think they would. That his role in the story would be remembered by at least one soul.

He walked faster.

And Monomon, oh Monomon… Though he could not remember her well, her name was a comfort in itself, like a warm, distant, nostalgic memory. Soft memories threatened to break the surface, yet he could not remember her, truly. But what would she think of this end? It wouldn't be like Quirrel, not at all - but that joy that he had felt then, the absolute wonder of it all… It faded, too, with his withering soul.

He was being selfish in this end, but it was something he'd have decided for himself. It was the only one he'd be comfortable with. Infection was a terrifying thing he couldn't risk, and the death at another's nail just wasn't ideal. And even if neither happened, his time would come soon, now that Monomon’s blessing had left him.

He broke into a sprint.

This was how it should be.

… This was how it had to be.

As he jumped and fell, all to meet the blue water rushing around him, he had one wish and one only;

That their little ghost would finish their own story, with or without him.


End file.
